


Secrets Don’t Make Friends (They Make More Than That)

by ephemeralslytherin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9565865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralslytherin/pseuds/ephemeralslytherin
Summary: Harry Potter's eighth year at Hogwarts isn't supposed to be spent dealing with an arch nemesis of a roommate and his biggest secret, or accidentally being really good at Potions, or even being drugged and taken out of class. But it just so happens that way, and Harry's left to deal with the fact that the blonde boy is all too close to him, all the time, for better or for worse.





	1. I Wanted You

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic on AO3, so let me know what you think!

Harry Potter was good at a lot of things. He was good at Quidditch, (decently) good at his studies, good at being fatefully loyal to his friends. Hell, he was the fucking savior of the wizarding world (twice), so he's pretty good at that, too. But one thing Harry Potter was not good at was keeping secrets. Especially when they came from the soft mouth of Draco Malfoy. 

Harry had returned to Hogwarts for his final year mostly at the urging of Hermione, who insisted that despite being the savior of the wizarding world, it couldn’t hurt to have a few extra qualifications for the future. He hadn’t necessarily been too keen to spend another year in the same place that still haunted his nightmares, but he realized that in the end, a part of him missed the castle; missed his home. 

Arriving at Hogwarts for the last time as a student had been a surreal experience. There was, of course, still lots of damage left over from the war, but for the most part it had been the same place he remembered longing for summer after summer. And it felt fucking good to be back. 

It felt a little less great to discover that all the returning eighth years were going to be placed in their own block of rooms separate from the typical house quarters. He wasn’t sure who was returning to finish their NEWTS besides Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Seamus. He soon learned during the feast, however, when the far more observant Hermione pointed out a few familiar faces at the surrounding tables. 

“Is that...” he asked, eyes locked on the table at the other end of the hall. 

He sensed Hermione nodding beside him. “It looks like Malfoy’s returned for eighth year as well. I don’t see any of his other cohorts, though.” 

Once again, Hermione seemed to be right. Malfoy was sitting at the end of the Slytherin table, a few empty seats between himself and anyone else. Harry hadn’t seen him since he spoke at his trial, but he looked much worse now than he did then. He had lost the gel in his hair, and it was much longer than before, nearly reaching his chin. He appeared a great deal thinner, and although there was food on his plate, he didn’t seem to be touching it much. The circles under his eyes were much more pronounced, nearly mirroring Harry’s. His face was lacking the iconic Malfoy sneer, but certainly wasn’t displaying a typically positive emotion. Malfoy looked like someone just killed his puppy, though Harry had always characterized Malfoy as the type of person to laugh at that type of thing, rather than outwardly show remorse. 

“What a fucking git,” Ron said from across the Gryffindor table. “What does he even think he’s doing, coming back here? I’m surprised McGonagall even let him.”

“He looks so alone,” Harry said, mostly without thinking. 

Ron scoffed. “That serves him right, don’t you think?” 

Harry shrugged and looked at Hermione. “He did save our lives,” he offered.

“Yeah, but he also tried to kill us quite a bit,” Ron countered, mouth full of food. 

“Ron, can you not wait until you’ve finished chewing to talk?” Hermione asked, and Ron just rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, Harry, he does look quite miserable, but he was a Death Eater. That can’t really be ignored.”

“He didn’t take the mark by choice,” Harry argued, not quite sure why he was even arguing in the first place. This was Malfoy, after all. He’s supposed to hate Malfoy, not defend him to his best mates.

“But he still took it,” Ron countered. Harry turned his gaze to Malfoy once again, without really thinking about it. Suddenly Malfoy glanced up and made eye contact with Harry, and the dead puppy expression melted, replaced with a sneer that sent Harry tumbling back to their earlier years at Hogwarts. Harry released Malfoy’s eyes and turned his attention back to his fellow Gryffindors. 

“Yeah,” Harry said in defeated agreement, even though the conversation had already shifted to something else.

***

After the feast, when the respective houses would typically retreat to their common rooms, McGonagall requested that all eighth year students remain in the Great Hall. The students all gathered in a clump near the professors’ table, waiting for the rest of the students to clear out. 

“As you all may already know, all eighth years will be rooming in one common block of rooms rather than with your respective houses.” There were a few groans audible, mainly from Ron. “That said, here are your room assignments,” she said, passing around a pile with each pairing and room location. When Harry received his copy, he shot Ron a knowing glance, figuring they’d be undoubtedly rooming together. His heart nearly jumped into his throat when he read Neville’s name next to Ron’s rather than his, and scanned the list further to discover where he himself had been placed. 

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. It was right there, but he couldn’t believe it. Ron looked at Harry in horror. “Oh mate,” Ron said, sympathy heavy in his voice. “I’m sure we can talk to McGonagall. There’s got to be some sort of mistake,” he said, placing an arm comfortingly on Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry just shook his head. “No, there’s no way this was a mistake. McGonagall’s obviously got some reasoning behind pairing Malfoy and I,” he said. 

Ron scoffed. “Well, what the fuck could that even be? That you two need to make nice after trying to kill each other a bunch of times? Yeah, placing you two together seems like a rather nice way to get you to not A-K each other,” he ranted.

Harry sighed. He was about to reply when he felt a hand make contact with his arm, not very gently. He turned around to find Malfoy standing behind him, obviously having made his way over from the other side of the group of students. “Look, I’m not happy about this either,” he started, “but I’ve already talked to McGonagall and she refuses to amend the arrangements. So we’re stuck.” 

Harry sighed. He really, really, didn’t want to be an arse to Malfoy, who did, despite all of Ron and Hermione’s arguments, save his life. If Harry had died then, he wouldn’t have been around to defeat Voldemort. So, in a way, Malfoy had helped save the wizarding world, too. And that wasn’t really something you can blame a person for. 

“Guess we have to make the best of it, yeah?” Harry asked cheerily, putting out his hand for Malfoy to shake. As soon as he did, he remembered declining Malfoy’s handshake all those years ago and instantly regretted offering his hand now. He regretted it even more so when Malfoy just sneered and walked away, barely muttering a statement of agreement under his breath. 

***

Harry stood outside the door to his room, having stalled his arrival as long as possible, and finally pushed open the door. Walking inside, he was surprised to find it empty. Malfoy’s trunk was right next to Harry’s just inside the door, so he hadn’t even been to the room to claim which bed he wanted. Harry sighed, flopping down onto the bed closest to the window. Maybe Malfoy had decided to go home and forgo finishing his last year at Hogwarts. Then he’d have a room all to himself, and-

He was cut off from his thoughts when the door swung open, a stone faced look on Malfoy’s face as he sauntered in. He grabbed his wand and pointed it at the green and silver trunk, moving it effortlessly to the end of the unoccupied bed.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, sitting up. He ignored him, continuing to unpack a few books onto the desk in the corner. “Malfoy,” Harry said, louder.

Malfoy sighed and slammed a book down on the desk, turning around to face him. “What is it you want, Potter?” 

Harry found himself shocked that he didn’t have an answer. “You don’t have to ignore me, you know,” he said instead. 

“Well, would you rather I throw rose petals at your feet and proclaim my undying love for our Savior?” Malfoy asked, his gray eyes storming. Harry cringed at the title. He couldn’t stand being being thought of as someone above everyone else. He really wasn’t all that special. The wizarding world just kept fluffing him up to be more than he was.

“Fuck, of course not, but if we’re gonna be living together we ought to get along at least,” Harry said. 

“And how or why would we do that? You hate me,” Malfoy said, turning back around to unload more of his books. 

“I don’t hate you, Malfoy,” Harry said. “You saved my life.” 

“That doesn’t just erase years of hatred, Potter.” 

Harry sighed again. “I don’t think I ever really hated you, at any point.” Malfoy didn’t respond, so Harry spoke again. “Sure, you were a fucking git and you obviously hated me, but I never actually hated you.”

Malfoy turned around to face him again, frustration obvious on his face. “It wasn’t hatred, you moron. It was jealousy. I wanted everything about you. I wanted to be you. I wanted the glory you held so carelessly, or I wanted to be surrounded by it, by you. But you’d obviously hated me from the moment you laid eyes on me, so I knew I couldn’t ever have that. But it didn’t stifle the jealousy. So, no, Potter, I didn’t hate you. I wanted you.”

Harry swallowed. “Oh,” he said simply. 

Malfoy moved to sit on other bed. “I don’t understand how you don’t have the urge to jump on me and murder me with your bare hands. That’s what I would do if I was you.” 

“I don’t,” Harry replied. “I used to want to, sometimes, but now, after the war, it’s like I just don’t have that type of fight in me anymore.” Harry lifted his eyes from the hem of his shirt to meet the gray ones of the boy sitting tentatively across from him. “Like in sixth year, I used to not be able to stand you. Before that, as well, but especially then. But now I look at you and I don’t feel that way at all. I have no desire to fight with you anymore. There really wasn’t a point before, and there isn’t now.” 

“It doesn’t bother you that I’m a fucking Death Eater? That Voldemort lived in my house?” Malfoy looked ashamed more than anything, his face of stone long gone. 

Harry just shook his head. “You were a Death Eater,” he corrected. “And not by choice.” 

Malfoy just shook his head and laughed lightly. It was an odd sight, Malfoy with anything other than a sneer on his face. “You’re such a fucking Gryffindor, Potter.” 

Harry grinned at that. “Damn straight, Malfoy.” He almost got a hint of a smile in return. 

“So we’re okay?” Malfoy asked. “You won’t try to A-K me in my sleep?” 

Harry smiled again. “Nope. Just as long as you don’t.” 

Malfoy stood up. “Then I think we have a deal,” he said, putting out his hand. 

Harry took it.


	2. Showers and Fair Trades

The first few weeks of term passed surprisingly uneventfully (in comparison to Harry’s previous years at Hogwarts, that is) and Harry could tell that Ron was more surprised at how well Harry and Malfoy were getting along than Harry was. The entire time he’d known Malfoy, Harry had been so convinced that Malfoy hated him, and it wasn’t like Malfoy had led him to believe anything other than that. And now they seemed to have reached a common ground. But, still, he hadn’t expected their roommate situation to end up like this. 

It seemed he and Malfoy were…friends?

They were civil towards each other, almost joking around sometimes. They would even walk down to breakfast together but normally they would split ways at the entrance to the Great Hall, Harry going to sit with the bunch of rambunctious Gryffindors and Malfoy going to sit at the Slytherin table, nearly alone. Malfoy had always seemed like the unspoken leader of the Slytherins and Harry was a bit confused as to why that had changed so much, but he figured it might not be a good thing to ask about. He and Malfoy had been doing so well in the not-killing-each-other department, and Harry desperately wanted to keep it that way.

He was thinking about the way things had turned out one particular evening while working on his latest potions essay. Malfoy was in their adjacent bathroom, getting ready for bed as well, Harry presumed. He heard the shower going, as it had been for a while, and Harry decided all that pumpkin juice he drank a little bit ago hadn’t been the best decision. He thought about his choices for a minute, and while he could always pop to Ron’s room to use his bathroom, the last time he’d walked in he’d found Ron and Hermione with more clothes hastily thrown on the floor than what was on their bodies, and he had no desire to repeat that situation. 

Sighing, Harry moved his textbook off his lap and got up, using an unlocking spell on the door. “Malfoy it’s just me, I’ve got to take a piss,” he said as he was opening the door, not aware that the shower had stopped a few minutes ago. Instead of being met with a closed shower curtain like he expected, he was met with a completely naked Malfoy, save for a towel slung low across his waist. His hair was darker wet, and looked quite odd in contrast to his usual pale blonde. Harry’s eyes were caught on the other boy’s pale chest and arms, large expanses of skin on full display. 

Harry could have sworn he say Malfoy blush under Harry’s wandering gaze, but he didn’t dare say anything about it. Hell, he couldn’t be certain his face wasn’t heating up as well. “Fuck, sorry, I thought you were in the shower,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “I just needed to use the toilet.”

Malfoy looked at him a bit oddly, motioning towards it. “Well, go ahead.”

“Er, right,” Harry said, walking over to do what he set out to do. 

Okay, it wasn’t Harry’s fault he’d freaked out and maybe internally drooled a bit. It had been a while ago that he’d fully realized he was quite into blokes beyond thinking that some Quidditch player looked nice on a broomstick, but it’s not like Harry’s had a chance to act on any of his emotions. His bout with Ginny had ended shortly after the war because she felt Harry just wasn’t ready for a relationship. Which actually meant Ginny didn’t feel like Harry could have given her what she wanted. And she wasn’t really wrong. During his time with Ginny, Harry had mostly been convincing himself that he wasn’t into blokes like that, and it turns out it was a waste of time. Especially when people who looked like Malfoy were alive. And living with him.

Harry tried to squander any feelings he had inside of him about Malfoy by reminding himself that it was Malfoy. And even though Harry had forgiven him and they were friendly toward each other, there’s no way Malfoy could feel that way about Harry. 

*** 

A few hours later and a few essays later, Harry lay on his bed, exhausted. “Why’d I even agree to come back and do all this work?” Harry asked himself rhetorically. 

“Because you’re a git,” Malfoy replied from his desk, quill squeaking away. 

“Why’d you decide to come back?” Harry asked. Malfoy’s quill stopped momentarily, then started again. 

“I doubt you’d honestly care, Potter.”

“Yes, I do, Malfoy. I want to know.”

He sighed and turned around in his chair. “I couldn’t stay at home with my mother for an entire year. I love her, yes, but ever since the war ended, she’s been intolerable. She’s either crying or screaming or nagging me about something, so when McGonagall sent the letter saying I’d been invited to return to finish my NEWTs, I jumped at the chance. I knew it would suck being here, the only eighth year Slytherin and having had the Malfoy name disgraced among the rest of the attending house, but it was better than staying at the Manor. It’s too full of nightmares.” 

It was all Harry could do to stare into his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

Malfoy just shook his head. “Both our lives have sucked, but the war’s over. We have to move past it all.”

Harry offered him a small smile. “I couldn’t agree more.” 

“It feels really weird to have you say that,” Malfoy admitted. “The Savior agreeing with Draco Malfoy.”

“Call me that again and I’ll hex you into next Tuesday.” Malfoy laughed. “Hey, at least you’ll miss this fucking potions quiz. But then again, you’re a genius at potions, so I suppose it’s a walk in the park for you.”

Malfoy just shrugged jokingly and went back to scribbling away with his quill.

“How about this,” Malfoy said after a few minutes, turning around in his chair again. “I’ll help you with your potions revision if you tell me one of your secrets.” 

Harry was a caught a bit off guard by Malfoy’s suggestion; it seemed less like something Malfoy would say and something more like a third year girl would say. “Alright,” Harry agreed. “But then you have to tell me a secret in return.” 

“But I’m helping you with your revision,” Malfoy protested. 

“Come on, you know it’s only fair,” Harry chided.

Malfoy sighed in defeat. “Alright, fine. But you’ve got to keep it a secret. I’ll keep yours, too.”

“Alright, deal,” Harry agreed. Malfoy waited, expecting Harry to spill. “Okay, I secretly hate referring to you only by your surname,” he said. “It makes me feel like we’re still enemies, or elderly.” 

Malfoy just laughed. “Okay, call me Draco then, and I’ll call you Harry,” he said, smiling. 

“Just as long as you don’t call me the Savior, I’ll be good,” Harry said, relieved that Malf- that Draco didn’t hex him at the suggestion of not calling him by his surname. “What secret have you got for me, Draco?”

“Well this is something I probably would have told you anyway, now that we’re living together and everything, but I might as well just tell you now. But you mustn’t tell anyone else, Harry, alright?” Harry nodded, urging Draco to go on. “I like blokes,” he said, as if he was telling Harry what time it was. 

That was definitely the last thing he expected to come out of Draco’s mouth. And upon hearing it, it took every ounce of self-restraint in Harry’s body not to jump him right there. 

“Fuck, well I guess that makes two of us,” Harry said under his breath. 

Draco’s head shot up from his parchment. “What did you say?” he asked breathlessly. 

Harry cleared his throat. “I said that makes two of us, then.” Draco’s face was a bit blank at Harry’s words. “I’m quite into blokes as well,” he said, as if to clarify his previous statement. 

“Oh, alright then,” Draco said, only a ghost of a smile on his face. “I guess that explains the bathroom earlier,” he said, smirking. 

“Oh, Merlin,” Harry said, covering his face with his hands. 

Draco just laughed. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“So, how about that potions help?” Harry asked, trying to disperse the awkward air, and Draco came over to sit on Harry’s bed, flipping open his textbook. 

“First of all, you aren’t even in the right chapter,” Draco chided, “so we’re already off to a great start.” But Harry couldn’t help but think they really were off to a greater start than he could have ever imagined.


	3. A Bit Too Much Confidence

A few nights after their agreement and mutual spilling of secrets, Harry sat on his bed, waiting for Draco to return from wherever in the castle he had disappeared to. He really needed some help with the calming draught he was supposed to be able to brew effortlessly, and Draco was the best at potions; Hermione had even conceded to Draco’s knowledge of the subject (not to Draco’s face, of course). Harry knew he could still ask Hermione, but for some reason he found himself looking forward to the idea of Draco helping him instead.

Now it was about 9:30 at night, an hour after Draco was normally back in their room. Harry never asked him where he disappeared to, he figured it wasn’t any of his business. Harry had already gone ahead and tried brewing the calming draught once, but it turned out a thick, clumpy green mess and he knew it definitely wasn’t right. He discarded the contents and tried again, producing a nice looking soft blue liquid. If Draco had been there, he thought, Harry would have known if this time it was correct or not.

But Draco wasn’t there.

Harry couldn’t actually remember what calming draught was meant to look like, but at this point he was too frustrated to care, and he figured he could use some calming down, anyway. He had far too many emotions swirling around his brain and fancied a break from all that. For example, the fact that he knew Draco was gay, and he couldn’t tell anyone. As much as he wanted to run to Ron and spill everything, he knew that Draco held one of Harry’s biggest secrets, too. Hell, Draco knew that Harry was gay and not even Ron did. What a shit friend he was, huh?

Harry poured a bit of the steaming potion into a glass and gulped it down without a thought. At first he felt nothing other than a warm feeling in his throat as the potion made its way down. It tasted of lavender, and wasn’t overall unpleasant.

He seemed to forget all about the potions essay he still had to write on his brewing experience along with the two charms essays he still had yet to complete. After a few minutes, he recollected that this feeling he was having definitely wasn’t the same as when he’d had (definitely) correctly brewed calming draught in the infirmary before. “Well, fuck,” he said aloud, despite being alone.

He just laid on his bed, trying to control the new emotions swimming through his mind, which he had no doubt were the effects of the sketchy potion he’d consumed. His thoughts traveled back to Ron and how shitty of a friend he’d been, telling Draco he was gay before even thinking about telling Ron.

Suddenly, Harry was on his feet and hoisting his invisibility cloak over his shoulders. As a second thought, he dug the Marauder’s map from the bottom of his trunk, smiling at the nostalgia. Activating it, he saw Ron was in his dormitory, and Hermione was there as well. They were probably shagging, but Harry found himself honestly not caring. He had something to say, and he was going to say it. Where the hell was all this confidence coming from?

Stomping through the halls underneath the cloak, he soon found himself outside Ron’s dormitory. He knocked on the door, a part of him screaming to run away. He received no answer from the other side of the door. “I know you’re in there, mate,” Harry said. “I need to talk to you.”

He heard a click and the door opened. “Hermione’s here, mate,” Ron whined, and Harry understood why, he just didn’t care at the moment. That damned potion, he thought.

“Great, I need to talk to her, too,” Harry replied enthusiastically, walking into the room and taking off his cloak, plopping down on the bed that Hermione wasn’t already seated on.

“What did you want to talk to us about, Harry?” Hermione asked, quizzically.

“So I was doing my potions homework, the calming draught, and Draco was meant to be helping me but he decided not to show up to our fucking room,” Harry said, noticing Ron’s head whipping around when he heard Harry call Malfoy anything other than Malfoy, but continued, “so I just did it myself, and I thought I had it right so I took a bit of it, but I know it didn’t work right because I can feel myself overloaded with confidence, like anything I say will be fine and it doesn’t matter. But then I was thinking about some other stuff and I wanted to tell you two this anyway but the potion’s making me do it straight away, so, er, here goes,” Harry paused, noticing the concerned look on his friend’s faces. “I’m gay,” he admitted.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, getting up to wrap her arms around him in a hug. “Thank you for telling us,” she said.

Ron was smiling from his spot on the bed, laughing a bit. “Hermione, you owe me a galleon.”

“What?” Harry said, looking from Ron to Hermione.

“I’ve seen how you looked at Oliver Wood, mate. I figured it was only a matter of time before you told us,” Ron explained.

Harry playfully shoved Ron. “So you guys are okay?” Harry asked. “With me, I mean.”

“Of course, Harry,” Ron said, and Hermione nodded.

Harry beamed at his best friends. “Well I better get back to my room and let this potion wear off before I do anything frightfully stupid,” he said, grabbing both of them for a group hug of sorts. “I love you guys,” he said, smiling stupidly.

They all pulled away and Harry picked up his cloak, heading for the door. “Have fun shagging, you two,” he said.

“We’ve been studying,” Hermione said, blushing profusely.

At the same time Ron said, “Thanks, mate.”

Harry closed the door behind him, smiling to himself.

***

Despite wanting to get back to his room without doing anything to embarrass himself, he ended up pulling out the map again, searching for Draco’s name. There it was, back in their dormitory. Harry wasn’t sure what he felt for Draco. There was physical attraction there, yes, and he supposed there always had been. The time had just never been right. But he wasn’t sure how Draco would ever feel about him.

Harry didn’t quite trust himself to be alone with Draco while under the influence of this confidence potion, but he trusted himself even less anywhere else. So eventually, he found himself back at their dormitory, and Harry entered, still under his cloak.

Harry saw Draco leaning over the pot of botched calming draught and Harry’s notes alongside it. Pulling the cloak off, he saw Draco visibly jump at the sudden materialization of Harry. “Hello, Draco,” he said, nonchalantly.

“Is that…” Draco mused, referencing Harry’s cloak.

“An invisibility cloak, yes,” Harry confirmed.

“Well, that explains a lot from over the years,” Draco commented. Harry just nodded, trying to resist the urge to attack Draco with his lips.

“Your hair looks quite nice without all the gel in it,” Harry stated, as if he was telling Draco what time it was. “It suits your face.” Harry walked over to his trunk, folding the cloak and putting it back.

Even without looking at Draco, Harry could tell he was a bit flustered. “Er, I stopped using it during the war, because, well, it was a war, and hair gel was the least of my worries. And I guess I just never bothered after that,” Draco said.

“You’re just very attractive in general,” Harry said before meeting Draco’s eyes. 

“Er, thanks,” Draco said, clearly confused. “Harry, what potion is this?” Draco asked, motioning to the pot.

Harry sighed. “It was supposed to be a calming draught, and you were supposed to help me with it because I’m rubbish at potions, but since you were off doing who knows what, I ended up with that, which, let me tell you, is definitely not a calming draught.”

“Did you take any of it?” Draco asked, stepping closer.

“Yeah, and it’s done the opposite of calm me down,” Harry replied. “I think it’s some sort of confidence potion.” He took a few steps in Draco’s direction so they were both standing over the lavender smelling potion, their arms brushing in a way that was intoxicating Harry.

“There’s no such thing as a confidence potion that I’m aware of,” Draco said, shaking his head.

“Well, we’ve got one right there.”

“Yeah, because I think you must’ve just fucking invented it,” Draco said. “On accident.”

“What, are you jealous that I’m a better potion maker than you?” Harry said, purposefully egging Draco on. “How many potions have you invented?” Harry bumped his hip against Draco’s.

“Potter-“

“No, you’ve got to call me Harry,” Harry said, turning so they were face to face rather than side by side.

“Fine, Harry, we should actually work on you figuring out how to properly brew a calming draught rather that inventing new potions accidentally,” Draco suggested, not moving away from Harry.

Harry’s eyes stared perpetually into Draco’s. “There’s some other things I’d like to do, instead,” Harry said letting his hands move to Draco’s chest and the buttons of his shirt, gently touching a few of them before letting his hands drop to his sides again. “But let’s get to the bottom of this potion!” Harry said, overly cheerful. He was well aware that he was teasing Draco, utterly unworried by the consequences. But he hadn’t been hexed yet, so that was a good sign.

Draco swallowed loudly. “On second thought, I think you need to just sleep this off,” he said.

“Oh, but I’m having so much fun,” Harry said, turning back around to face Draco.

“Merlin, I’m sure you are, but this is for your own good,” Draco said, before rummaging around his trunk to produce a tiny vial of sleeping potion, adding a few drops of it to a glass of water. “Drink this, Harry,” he ordered. “You’ll thank me later.”

Harry pulled back the covers on his bed and slowly took off his tie, shirt, and trousers, leaving him in his socks and boxers. “Oh, will I?” Harry asked. Draco just handed him the glass, steely eyed, and turned around, walking into the bathroom. Harry downed the liquid in the glass. “Goodnight, Draco,” he said, far too quietly for the other boy to hear.


	4. Alcoves and Quidditch

The next morning, Harry awoke with a headache that felt like the Cruciatus curse’s younger brother. He rolled over in bed, groaning. 

“You’re awake.”

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Draco’s voice. “I guess,” he replied. He looked up to find Draco sitting cross legged on his bed, scribbling away on some parchment. “What time is it?” 

“About half six in the morning,” Draco replied casually. “Are you still feeling,” he paused, “confident?” The smirk on Draco’s face was enough to send Harry into oblivion.

“That was real?” Harry asked. “I had hoped I had dreamt all of that.” 

“Why’d you hope that?” Draco asked, putting his quill down.

“Because I made a fool of myself,” Harry replied, a bit shocked Draco had asked him to elaborate. Maybe it was just to humiliate him further. 

“Well,” Draco said, standing up and straightening his shirt. “I quite like a man with confidence.”

***

Harry dressed and the pair began to head down for breakfast. As they were nearing the Great Hall, Harry asked what he’d been wanting to ask for a few weeks now. “Draco, do you want to come sit with me and the rest of the eighth years? It’s got to be awfully lonely over there by yourself.” Harry cast a sidelong glance at the boy striding along next to him, waiting for his reaction.

“At the Gryffindor table?” Draco asked, incredulously. 

Harry nodded. “All the other eighth years sit there with us because most of us that came back were in Gryffindor anyway. You wouldn’t be the only one out of place because of your house.” There were only five or six other eighth years, anyway, but still. 

“Harry, I don’t think your friends would appreciate my joining their morning festivities,” Draco said slowly. 

“Well, I don’t think it’s right for you to be sitting there all alone when you could be sitting with me, er, with us,” Harry said, stumbling over his words. 

“You’re right, Potter,” Draco said, his tone changing, “I wouldn’t be out of place because of my house. I’d be out of place because I’m a fucking Death Eater and everyone at that table wants me dead or in Azkaban.” 

Harry stopped in place and grabbed Draco’s arm dragging him into a nearby alcove. Even in the dimmer lighting, Draco’s hair shone and his eyes features stood out among the shadows. He really hadn’t ever noticed it before because his mind was so clouded with the reminder that Draco hated him. He hadn’t ever thought of Draco as anything other than someone who couldn’t stand Harry. “Draco, the war is over. The trials are over,” Harry said in an attempt to convince him.

Draco scoffed and shook his arm loose of Harry’s hand, which Harry hadn’t realized was still grabbing Draco’s arm. “Sure, maybe that’s so. But not to those people. It seems you’re the only one who manages to see that,” Draco said, quieter on the last bit. 

“Then the rest of them are bloody idiots,” Harry said. “You should be able to sit at any table you wish to, and a tattoo on your arm that you never wanted shouldn’t make a difference. You never killed anyone, hell, you fucking saved my life. And by saving my life, you saved theirs.”

Draco laughed dryly. “I don’t get why you’re like this, Harry.”

Harry stepped back, confused. “Like what?”

“How do you see the good in me, in my actions? How have you forgiven me? How do you do this to me?” Draco held Harry’s gaze so intensely, it felt like there was a physical  
connection between them even though they were standing at least two feet apart.

“How do I do what to you?” Harry asked, a part of him already knowing the answer.

Draco suddenly advanced on Harry, and his instincts told him to reach for his wand out of his robes, but before he even had a chance, Draco backed Harry up against the stone wall of the small alcove, putting an arm on the wall on either side of Harry, his face just inches away. Now that they were so close, Draco’s height advantage became even more obvious, with Harry having to train his gaze upward to look into his clear, concentrated gray eyes. 

“You drive me absolutely crazy, Potter.” 

Before he even had a chance to say anything else, Draco whirled away from him in a swarm of black robes, out of the alcove and through the entrance to the Great Hall, leaving Harry more confused than ever. 

*** 

That day in potions class, the bane of Harry’s existence, Professor Slughorn announced they’d be working in partners, chosen by the students for once. Draco had been cold towards Harry that entire day, through DADA and Transfiguration, both. Now they had Potions together, and Harry desperately hoped he’d have a chance to talk to Draco, preferably alone, and discuss what the hell had happened, and what Harry wanted to happen next.

Yes, Harry wanted to be friends with Draco; they sort of already were. Harry wanted to be more than just friends with Draco. And Harry knew he drove Draco crazy, which could be taken a few different ways, but in this context, Harry had convincing enough evidence to believe that Draco saw something in Harry, something else no one else saw.

He had somehow been entrusted with a secret of Draco’s, one that Draco had presumably told no one else save for Harry. Not only that, but there was the incident in the alcove before breakfast that morning where Harry had really thought Draco was going to attack him, before he amended that thought and added with his mouth. 

The signs were all there. Now all Harry had to do was give Draco those same signs.

When Slughorn finished giving preliminary instructions, Ron looked at Harry expectantly, assuming they’d work together. Harry shook his head at Ron and nodded to Hermione who was seated next to Ron anyway. “I’ll go work with Dra- with Malfoy,” Harry said, earning strange looks from both his friends. He ignored them, however, and made his way to the table near the door where Draco was seated, alone. 

“Let’s be partners, yeah?” Harry suggested, plopping his bag down on the table without giving Draco a chance to say no. 

Draco looked with contempt first at Harry’s bag on the table, and then at Harry himself. “Wha-”

“I think we’d work well together, don’t you?” Harry asked, mostly rhetorically, pulling out the chair and sitting down, one of his legs tucked underneath him. “Plus, you still owe me some Potions help,” he paused, scooting his chair closer to Draco’s. “If I’m not mistaken.” 

Draco nearly sneered at him, but Harry didn’t falter. “Maybe I don’t want to work with you right now,” Draco protested. 

“Well, everyone else’s paired up already, so it looks like we’re stuck with each other,” Harry countered, blasting a smile. “Besides, I’d rather work with you than anyone else in here anyway.”

Draco flushed, and it looked even more pronounced on his pale complexion. “Why?”

“Because,” Harry said, placing a hand on Draco’s knee, fully aware what it meant. “We’re friends.”

“We aren’t,” Draco said, staring at Harry’s hand and making no move to remove it.

“I’d say we are,” Harry countered, inching his hand up a little further, before suddenly removing it completely. “Well, let’s get started, shall we?”

Draco stood up suddenly. “No.” His voice was steady and forced, yet quiet. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked innocently. 

Exasperated, Draco turned around and ran a hand through his hair before turning around to face Harry again, who was plagued with thoughts of what it would feel like to run his fingers through Draco’s hair. It looked so soft, so ready to be mussed up. 

“Potter, stand up,” Draco all but ordered. Harry did so, musing that by the glint in Draco’s eye, he was scheming something. “Now, take this.” He handed Harry a small vial from his bag under the table. “It’s a fainting potion,” he explained. “That small of a dose should wear off in about ten minutes.” 

Harry looked at him quizzically for a moment, before grabbing the potion from Draco. “I trust that you aren’t going to murder me after this,” he half said, half asked. 

Draco smirked. “Of course, not, Potter. We’re friends.” 

Harry took a quick glance around the room at the other pairs enveloped in their work and downed the vial. He felt his consciousness slowly fading as he heard Draco say something to Slughorn that sounded something like, “Potter…fainted…infirmary…” and felt strong arms grab his nearly limp body before everything faded to dark.

He awoke less than ten minutes later, outside on the edge of the Quidditch pitch. Harry found himself alone, only to catch a glimpse of Draco on a broom about ten meters in the air. “Oi, Malfoy,” Harry called, sitting up from his spot on the ground, appreciating the warming charm that Draco must have cast on him. 

Draco made his descent, a smirk on his face. “You’re awake.”

“That was probably the most Slytherin way to get out of class I’ve ever seen,” Harry mused appreciatively. “But you know we could’ve just asked to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh, but that’s no fun, now is it?” Draco said, and his smirk made Harry’s stomach tumble all over itself. “Let’s go flying, yeah?”

Now it was Harry’s time to return Draco’s smirk as he picked up his broom, which Draco had evidently brought with. “I’ll race you to the forest,” he challenged. 

Draco took a step closer, and dropped his broom unceremoniously at his feet. The look in his eyes held pure emotion, so much more than Harry’d ever seen from him before. 

“Come to think of it,” he said, pausing to take another step towards Harry, “there’s some other things I’d like to do instead,” he finished, quoting Harry’s words from the other night when he’d taken the accidental confidence potion. 

“Oh yeah?” Harry prodded, moving to finger the collar of Draco’s shirt delicately. 

“Yeah,” Draco breathed, eyes roaming Harry’s face. 

“You drive me absolutely crazy,” Harry said, voice deepening. 

“I guess that makes two of us, then,” Draco replied, barely above a whisper.

And suddenly, there were lips on lips, hands in hair, and two soon-to-be breathless teenagers expressing everything they’ve ever felt through a flurry of hands and touches and soft noises. 

And, Merlin, Draco felt like heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes this little fic! Thanks for reading!  
> Check out my Tumblr if you want, percweasly.tumblr.com


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